A Stop on the Road
by moonswirl
Summary: Gleekathon, day 1445: Before he was ever thrown in the alternate world, this was the night everything changed for Mike and for Puck and Matt as well. - Berry-St series


_Started my daily ficlets to make the hiatus pass, then decided to keep going with a 2nd cycle, and then a 3rd, 4th, etc through 68th cycle. Now cycle 69!_

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**"A Stop On The Road"  
(in gen2!world) gen2!Mike, Puck, Matt  
Berry-St series  
_(all series now listed under the communities tab in my profile)_  
**

There was a party that night, at one of the other football players' house, and with how fast the word had spread through McKinley, the bottom line was clear: everyone that was important was going to be there.

Puck had his mother's car, so he'd volunteered to pick up Mike and Matt and get them all to Tom's party. First stop was Matt's house, and when they got Mike, they were good to go.

Later on they would try and remember what they'd been talking about, but it would be hard to remember. All of them seemed to be talking over each other, talking about one thing and another thing, and whether or not the others were paying attention, it didn't seem to matter. Matt was in the passenger seat, and Mike was in the back. He'd been the one to spot the car coming from the other side, headed right for them, much faster than it had any right to go.

The last thing he remembered of that one moment was shouting Puck's name, and the car swerving violently to try and get out of the way. After that, his world had both literally and figuratively turned upside down.

He would keep quiet about it when they would ask him about it, but he did remember what had happened right after the crash. He remembered feeling stuck. If he was in pain, he was too confused and scared to feel it. He didn't know where he was, didn't remember anything, not for a few seconds. He blinked, trying to move his head and somehow having the presence of mind not to move it too much. Maybe it wasn't presence of mind. Maybe it was just that he saw something that made him unable to move his head anymore. He saw Matt.

In an instant he understood where he was, he remembered riding in the car, remembered the car, and calling out… They hadn't hit the other car, no, it was something else… They'd moved out of the way, only in doing that… Had they flipped, had they hit something? Matt… Matt…

He must have been thrown from the car. Was he wearing his seatbelt? Mike could see the glass around him, small pieces, lit up by the streetlights over them. He must have gone through the windshield, something… He was lying on the side of the road, face down, but his face was turned just so, and Mike could see his eyes. They were open, but they weren't looking anywhere.

"Matt?" he tried to call. He had to speak, he had to. Maybe he was just in shock. "Matt?" he tried again, louder. His throat felt too small to push out the air and make the word, one tiny word, one syllable. "Matt?" he was shouting now, and he wouldn't stop, couldn't… But he never answered.

He could hear sirens in the distance. He tried to look back, remembering…

"Puck?" If he hadn't said anything before, when he'd been calling out to Matt, what would it mean? And for some time, he thought for sure… he was the only one still alive.

The paramedics arrived, and the next little while would be a blur, as they tried to get him out. Maybe he'd passed out. So many maybes in those minutes and hours, and the answers either wouldn't come or he'd wish they didn't.

His next recollection would be many hours later, though to him it felt like minutes, seconds. His world without pain was gone. Now he was awake, and so was the pain; it was everywhere. He didn't make a sound, not until he opened his eyes and the light blinded him. He whimpered and shut them again.

"He's awake," a man's voice spoke, and he wasn't sure, but it sounded like his father.

"Michael?" a scared woman's voice followed. "Michael, can you hear me?"

"M… Mom?"

"Yes," she replied with tearful relief. "Yes, I'm here, it's alright."

"Don't…" the man, his father then, spoke abruptly, but then kinder. "We're with you, son."

"The light…" he complained.

"I'll turn it down," his father spoke, and after a few seconds he could feel it recede, so he tried to open his eyes again. Everything was pale, soft…

"Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," his mother spoke, and he felt her take his hand. "Do you remember what happened?"

He had to close his eyes and think for a moment, but it came back to him. All he could see was Matt's face. Now his eyes burned with tears.

"I'm so sorry," his mother, cried, too.

"It wasn't us, we tried… Where are they? I want to see them," he demanded, growing agitated.

"You need to settle down," his father was at his other side. It wasn't the hard authoritarian voice he was hearing, and it should have made him feel better but it didn't, nothing could. His friends were dead.

He'd fallen asleep after that, or maybe he'd lost consciousness. When he woke again, his parents were gone, but he wasn't alone. He opened his eyes, and for a moment he thought he was hallucinating.

"Puck?" he spoke, and the boy looked up. His face was bruised, and he had a bandage on his head. He had one arm in a cast and he sat in a wheelchair, but he was there, and he was alive.

"I wasn't sure if they'd let me in, but I asked to stay with you while they had to speak with the doctor." He wheeled himself up closer, tapped his arm with his good hand. "I'm glad you're still here," he told him, and the way his voice trembled, it forced him to remember.

"I saw Matt, on the road…" They didn't have to say it, either of them. Their friend was gone, and that wasn't going to be proven wrong later.

"Did they tell you yet?"

"Tell me what?" Mike asked. Puck hesitated, looking down. "Tell me what?" he asked again.

"You got crushed pretty bad in there, your leg got crushed… Your parents are talking to the doctor about your treatment now that they…" he pointed to the bed, and Mike looked down.

How could he not have felt it? He'd been awake before, he was awake now, and there was nothing in him that felt anywhere close to matching what he was seeing. The sheets were pulled over him, and he could see the outline, see one long leg stretching out, and next to it…

After weeks had passed, he would wonder if Puck had needed to be there not just as a friend, as someone who'd been in that same accident with him, but as penance for the guilt he felt, like he'd needed to be there, to witness the moment where Mike saw that his leg was gone.

THE END

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******A/N: This is a one-shot ficlet, which means that signing up for story alert will not bring you any alerts.  
****In the event of a sequel, the story will be separate from this one. And as chapter stories go, they are  
************always clearly indicated as such [ex: "Days 204-210" in the summary] Thank you!**


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